


while your lips are still red

by sweettasteofbitter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: Josephine has seen her cry so often, about things important and trivial alike, but this time it’s too much.She can’t do this.
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	while your lips are still red

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago as part of a challenge. The prompt was to change an existing scene, and I chose the final dialogue with Josephine before you head off to Corypheus because I always felt like that deserved to be a cutscene. 
> 
> Also, I was hoping people wanted to see more of Roe.

The stables are hardly a romantic spot, the acrid smell of hay and horse dung penetrating Josephine’s nostrils, but she does not have the luxury to be picky at this moment. It’s quiet here, save for the occasional whinny or scraping of hooves, and in the deep shadows no one can see the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. No one but Roe.

Josephine takes Roe’s hands in her own. The skin in between her fingers is marked by wind and battle, but Josephine holds nothing dearer to her heart than Roe and her weathered hands. What she wouldn’t give to hold them forever, to be able to touch these bruised knuckles and scarred fingertips to her lips until the last syllable of time.

“Maker, I wish you didn’t have to go.” Josephine’s tongue lies heavy in her mouth – she speaks clumsily, yet calculated. The corset of fear around her chest draws its strings tighter, a cage of whale bone cutting into her lungs.

Roe’s teeth are worrying her bottom lip. It’s a telltale sign she is trying her best not to cry.

Josephine has seen her cry so often, about things important and trivial alike, but this time it’s too much.

She can’t do this.

Josephine sobs as she pulls Roe close, desperate hands clinging to her face. There will be traces of red smeared all across her face with the way she kisses Roe’s mouth, she’s certain of it. But it is better to have their mouths smeared with lipstick than with blood.

It is not a good kiss, but one can barely be expected to deliver when half-sobbing into each other’s mouth.

Josephine prays she will get the chance to do it over.

“Please return to me,” she whispers, dragging her thumb across the scar on Roe’s cheek. The corner of Roe’s mouth curls against her hand, though her smile is not in earnest.

“I’m trying.” Roe’s voice is so hoarse, Josephine can barely stand it. “You mean the world to me, Josephine Montilyet.”


End file.
